


put your arms around me baby (i just wanna fly)

by silverfoxflower



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Wings, Fluff, M/M, Massage, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, hey," Bucky said, stroking his knuckles against the edge of Natasha's upper wing. "Leave me out of it. I told her you were touchy about people handling your wings, but," he grimaced, "They are looking a little ... neglected." </p><p>Steve didn't have to turn his head to know that that was true. Right now, his too-long primary feathers were dragging on the barroom floor, and he <i>swore</i> he used to have white wings, but no matter how he preened they remained a dingy, lackluster grey. </p><p>"Alright," he said with a sigh, glancing at the gift card before slipping it into his wallet. <i>Seraphim Spa</i>, it read in gold script, <i>Massages, oil treatments and more.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	put your arms around me baby (i just wanna fly)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lifesmarvels on tumblr! It's a week-late belated birthday present!!
> 
> Note: includes some oil-glands as erogenous zones wink kink type thing. i don't know anything about birds if you can tell

Natasha shoved the gift card at him over dinner, " _Please go,_ " she said, leaning back against Bucky's waiting arm, her small, russet wings fluttering. "Your plumage is physically paining me." 

"I preen!" Steve said, breaking a loaf of garlic bread in half defensively, "Maybe not as much as your pretty boy _fiance-"_

"Hey, hey," Bucky said, stroking his knuckles against the edge of Natasha's upper wing. "Leave me out of it. I told her you were touchy about people handling your wings, but," he grimaced, "They are looking a little ... neglected." 

Steve didn't have to turn his head to know that that was true. Right now, his too-long primary feathers were dragging on the barroom floor, and he _swore_ he used to have white wings, but no matter how he preened they remained a dingy, lackluster grey. 

"Alright," he said with a sigh, glancing at the gift card before slipping it into his wallet. _Seraphim Spa_ , it read in gold script, _Massages, oil treatments and more._

Natasha gave a small, smug smile of triumph and Bucky kissed her on the forehead. 

\--

After a week of Natasha swinging by his cubicle in the Graphic Design department of Stark Industries, ostensibly for lunch, but actually to glare judgmentally at his wings, Steve finally made the appointment. 

When he walked in on Friday afternoon, Steve didn’t quite know what to expect. He certainly didn’t anticipate entering a reasonable facsimile of _heaven_. The interior was almost wholly constructed of white marble, glowing warmly under the sunshine which streamed in through its high, arched windows. There was a large fountain in the middle of the room, and the gentle sound of running water was underscored by soft piano music coming from somewhere Steve couldn’t see. 

Despite the comforting atmosphere, Steve approached the receptionist's desk like he was walking to his public execution. With every step he got tenser and tenser. His shoulders were almost up to his ears by the time he put his palms on the counter. 

“No yeah, she kept saying he would drop by, I’m beginning to think she’s just yanking my chain. I mean hotter than _Thor_?” the girl behind the front desk with lavender-dyed wings and black hair swiveled lazily in her chair, her bored expression dropping the second she glanced up at his face. "Gonna have to call you back, Jane. Tell Natasha I’m sorry I ever doubted her.” 

"Um," Steve said, as the girl dropped her phone and furiously pressed the intercom button. 

"Sam Wilson, paging Sam Wilson to the front desk. We have a Code 404."

"I don't think-" Steve said, starting to back away when a startlingly attractive man wearing a tight, white polo shirt skidded into view. When he smiled, Steve noticed the little gap between his front teeth. 

Steve felt a little flutter begin at the base of his wings, and he struggled to hide it. 

"Thanks, Darcy, I'll take it from here," the man walked toward Steve with a broad, friendly smile, holding his hand out to shake. His wings were almost as large as Steve's were, and sported healthy, mottled brown feathers. "Hello, sir and welcome to Seraphim. My name is Sam Wilson." 

"Hi," Steve smiled, taking his hand, another little flutter starting at the feeling of Sam's warm, firm grip. Maybe it _had_ been a while. "I'm Steve." 

"Well, Steve," Sam said, drawing him away from the front door and down a hallway with cream wallpaper. "What can I do for you today?" 

"Um," Steve said, imagining Sam's warm fingers combing through his feathers, massaging tight circles around his oil glands ... _No_ , Steve told himself sternly, Sam was a professional. Who just happened to be very attractive. He probably got lonely, desperate clients all the time throwing themselves at him, making him uncomfortable, and Steve would not be one of them. "Here, my friend got me a card." He opened his wallet and handed it to Sam, resolutely making no physical reaction when their fingers brushed. 

"Oh," Sam said with a sly smile in Steve's direction. "The full works. Luckily, I don’t have any more appointments scheduled for the day.” He opened a door in the hallway and invited Steve inside. “Here’s my room."

It was larger than Steve expected, but wouldn’t be large enough to completely spread his wings. Dominating the space was a large, black massage table, which looked a bit intimidating even with the soothingly painted blue walls and the light music coming from an ipod and speakers on a counter by the wall. 

"Does the spa pick the music, or is it yours?" Steve asked with a smile. 

"Nah, man, that's Marvin Gaye. From my personal collection." Sam faltered, then asked more formally, "Unless you would like me to turn it off?" 

"No," Steve said sincerely, "I like it." 

Sam smiled again, something genuine. Instead of leading Steve to the massage chair like he'd expected, Sam gestured to two chairs against the side of the wall. Out of habit, Steve pulled one out to sit so his wings would not come in contact with the wall. Sam angled his chair so he was facing Steve. 

"I like my clients to be comfortable," Sam said, resting his elbows on his knees. "Some of them, especially of it's their first time, aren't up for so much ... vulnerability right away. For many, preening is an intimate act. And there's nothing wrong with that." 

Steve looked down at his clasped hands, then back up at Sam.

"If you don't mind me saying," Sam leaned back in his chair, his wings drawing up to form a cushion against the wall. "You've got some large wings, my friend." 

Steve cracked a smile. "Sometimes I think they're more trouble than they're worth." 

"Tell me about it," Sam groused, sending an irritated ripple through his feathers. "Primaries dragging around everywhere, getting slammed in doors, and the city's so crowded it seems like you never really get a good _stretch._ "

"Waking up suffocated in your own feathers, having to buy an extra ticket on the plane, and the amount of _shampoo_ -“ Steve laughed, “You _are_ good.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said lightly, “You do have beautiful plumage, though. May I feel?” 

“Now I _know_ you’re lying,” Steve said, extending one wing carefully towards Sam. “I know they’re a little dingy,” he said, suddenly shy as he watched Sam trace the tip of one primary feather with a finger. “I’ve been …” Steve caught his breath as Sam slid his palm along the outside of Steve’s wing. “Busy.” Steve finished lamely. 

“It’s hard to get motivation sometimes, when you’re unmated,” Sam said, standing up slowly and walking behind Steve. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just start culling.” 

Steve nodded, rolling his shoulders as Sam started to work. His fingers were clever. Soothing. He pet along the length of Steve’s wing with one hand as he worked deftly with the other, removing bent and broken feathers. When he rubbed his knuckles against the base of Steve’s wing, Steve gave a small shudder. 

“Ticklish?” Sam asked.

“Just … sensitive,” Steve forced out, rolling his shoulders. 

“Ticklish.” Sam said, with a note of amused finality. 

Steve couldn’t help it, his wings fluttered again, broadcasting his attraction and contentment. Thankfully, Sam didn’t comment, continuing his work as the song ended and the low bass of another began. 

Around Steve’s feet, the litter of feathers grew thicker. “Wow,” he said, self-deprecatingly, “I’ve really let myself go.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Sam said. He walked to stand in front of Steve, looking him over with his hands on his hips. “Stand up for me and give a little shake.” 

Steve stood and smiled, surprised.

“Lighter, huh?” Sam asked. 

“At least ten pounds,” Steve said, unfurling his wings as far as the room would allow. “I had ten pounds of dead feathers on my back?” He carefully flapped his wings and another dozen swirled to the floor. 

“Feel up to getting on the chair now?”

Steve nodded, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. “Should I …?” 

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Sam said, turning away to rummage in the cabinets. 

Steve unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, hesitating before he walked to the door and hung it up on a hook there. When he turned around, Sam was staring at him, holding a handful of bottles. Steve smiled, just to test a theory, and Sam fumbled, dropping one. 

“Here, let me,” Steve said, taking two large strides, then bending down and grabbing the bottle. When he stood, he and Sam were practically nose-to-nose. 

“Thanks,” Sam said, his gaze flickering to Steve’s lips. And if Steve wasn’t mistaken, there was _definitely_ a tiny flutter in the arch of Sam’s wings. 

Heart pounding, Steve took a step back and slowly climbed onto the massage chair, maneuvering himself face-down. The attraction might not be one-sided, and Steve didn’t know whether that made him feel terrified or elated. 

“I’m going to start by misting your wings down with some water,” Sam said quietly, “Then move on to dry shampoo.” 

Steve nodded and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the black leather as the cool spray of water hit his wings and beaded over his naked back. 

“You don’t have to answer, but how long has it been?” Sam asked conversationally.

“Since what?”

“Since you last let somebody preen you.” Sam said, scooting his chair forward to cover the innermost parts of Steve’s wing, with the soft, downy feathers. 

Steve shivered, his wings unfurling slightly. “Five years?” 

Sam was silent as he finished his spraying, putting the bottle at his feet with a soft sound. “You had a mate?” 

Steve’s heart started thumping, and it felt … not as painful as it once did, but like an old wound that would never quite heal, the ache almost nostalgic. “Almost,” he said. “She was from England, worked in foreign policy. In the end, she had to return because her career was there, and I couldn’t get a visa, so it. Just never worked out.” 

Steve took a deep breath and released it.

“Dated a little after that,” mostly at the insistence of Natasha, “But never really found anyone who clicked, you know? Anyone I could trust to … touch them. Lately, of course,” his tone turned dry, “I haven’t been looking my best.” 

“Well we will definitely fix that,” Sam said, shaking the aerosol can of dry shampoo and starting to apply it in broad, even lines. “I’m serious, man, you have gorgeous plumage. It’s a felony what you’ve been neglecting. You’re gonna get all the flocking you can handle after I’m done with you.” 

Steve laughed, then, feeling bold, “Are _you_ … mated?” Sam’s wings were very well-preened, but it could have been just a product of his career. 

“Was,” Sam said. He let down the aerosol can, and a second later Steve felt the rub of a soft towel gently cleaning the grime and trapped oil from his wings. Sam was silent so long that Steve thought he’d just leave the answer to one word, but Sam continued. “We served overseas together, 58th Response & Rescue. Lost him on a standard fly in the night rescue op … it was an RPG.” Sam paused in his work. “Nothing I could do.” 

“I’m sorry.” Steve said sincerely. 

“No, no.” Sam said, “Fair’s fair.” He resumed his cleaning, his fingers gentle along the muscles of Steve’s wing. “After that, it was a long time before I really enjoyed flying again.” His voice turned warmed, turning enthusiastic. “ _There’s_ your advantage for having these big, clumsy things. Walking, you and I might be like awkward hippos, but flying, we are gazelles in the sky.”  
“ _Gazelles?_ ” Steve sputtered, his back spasming as he laughed. 

“Whoa!” Sam said, as he got a face full of feathers and ended up laughing too, his hand squeezing the muscle of Steve’s shoulder. “Seriously, though,” Sam said, after they’d calmed down. “Have you ever been to Paterson Falls? Great fly zone, truly spectacular view.” 

“To tell the truth, I’ve only ever flown a few times,” Steve said, then at Sam’s outraged noise, “I’m a city boy! Just stretching my wings to full length is a luxury.” He’d gone with Bucky a couple of times when they were younger. Every other Saturday, a chunk of Central Park was roped off for flyers and those who wanted to watch. Bucky had wings on the large side of medium, so he could get up to a reasonable height but had trouble maintaining it. Those trips usually ended up with Bucky sunning himself while Steve flew leisurely through the airspace, trying not to bump into the dozens of other fliers sharing the area. About as fun as swimming in a public pool. 

“A felony.” Sam said simply. “A. Felony.” He continued rubbing, gathering one handful of feathers at a time and wiping them down in firm, even strokes. Steve felt like he was melting into the chair, the muscles of his wings rippling with contentment. 

Steve was almost dozing by the time Sam finished, patting him gently on the shoulder. 

“Just one more thing,” Sam said, holding up a bottle. Steve turned to look, blinking slowly. “Gotta to oil your feathers so they keep supple and get that nice sheen. Now, we can use this synthetic wing oil, but I usually recommend simulating your natural oil glands. Of course,” he said seriously, “Some people don’t feel comfortable with that. Which is perfectly okay.” 

Steve swallowed hard, “I don’t mind.” 

Sam smiled a little tightly before carefully putting the bottle of oil on the counter and grabbing a pair of rubber gloves. Steve settled back into the chair, trying to slow his breathing and the painful pounding of his heart. It was just a massage, nothing to get worked up about. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. It was just a professional massage. 

The first touch of Sam’s fingers was at the joint at the end of his left forewing, just a warm cupped hand and the slow rotation of Sam’s thumb against the soft, downy feathers. Then his thumb dipped a little more inside, to the small hollow just under the joint. 

Steve pressed his lips together and tried not to flinch when the pad of Sam’s thumb pressed against his oil gland.

“It’s a little inflamed,” Sam said. His voice sounded strained. “So this might hurt, but I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.” 

Steve made a sound in the affirmative, or at least he thought he did because Sam continued, rubbing slow, firm circles around the oil gland, _milking_ it. Steve could feel when it started to dribble. It was almost a _shameful_ feeling, except that it sent shudders of warm pleasure through Steve’s body, like the release of some tension he didn’t even know he had. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Sam’s voice said, and Steve realized that he had unfurled his wings half-way without realizing it. He felt the side of his wing rubbing against something soft. It was the inside of Sam’s wing, which he had unfurled over Steve, preventing Steve from smacking against the celling. The brush of their feathers felt distressingly intimate. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, pulling his wings back towards his body, but Sam’s wing followed, arching over him like shelter, making a dim, intimate space of just their two bodies. Sam’s fingers flexed, firm, but gentle as they spread dollops of oil down Steve’s coverts, to his primaries. It stung, it did, the rub of Sam’s thumb on Steve’s gland, but it was a good hurt, like the stretch of an aching muscle or, well, something decidedly more sexual. 

With a dry swallow, Steve realized that he was pressing his hips into the leather of the chair, trying to get some pressure on his swollen cock. Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to notice as he shuffled around to work on Steve’s right wing, unfurling his own left wing to rest upon Steve’s back. 

Steve couldn’t help it, the hot trickle of oil, the gentle rubbing of Sam’s fingers and the warmth of his wing resting on top of Steve’s own all combined into a heady, arousing formula that had Steve tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth as he struggled not to hump the massage table. 

It was torture, sweet torture, but eventually, Steve stopped reacting to every single spike of pleasure, and just started drifting, his entire body relaxing into the chair. 

It took a while before Steve realized that the light behind his eyelids was a little brighter, and he didn’t feel Sam’s touch anymore. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam sitting on a stool opposite, staring at him with his head cocked. 

“Did I fall asleep?” Steve asked, red-faced. He scrambled to peel his body off of the massage chair, freezing once he realized that he still had an erection pressed to the front of his pants.

“Yeah, man, just for a little while. Looked like you needed it, though.” Sam stood, shooting Steve a smile over his shoulder as he walked to the door and opened it. “Com’on, there’s a big mirror in the lobby you should use to check out your wings. I outdid myself, if I do say so myself.” 

“Um.” Steve said, his upper body raised on his forearms but his legs still pressed firmly to the chair, feeling, distressingly, like a seal. 

“Oh.” Sam said, realization dawning on his face. “Ooooooh.” Then he seemed to make scramble for professionalism. “Well that’s normal, very normal. I can go outside if you want … some privacy.” 

The thought of awkwardly jacking off in Sam’s office while he stood outside was enough to make Steve’s cock go down a bit. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, resolutely staring at the ground as he swung his legs off of the table. He missed the quick glance Sam shot at his crotch before turning around and looking forward. 

The girl with the dyed wings – Darcy - was still at the reception desk when they neared. Her eyebrows shot to her forehead when she saw Steve. 

“Sam,” she said, “You’re a _miracle worker_.” 

“Yes I am,” Sam said, dimpling as he pointed Steve to the large mirror imbedded into the wall at the far end of the lobby. 

Steve held his breath as he walked forward, glancing around to see if there was anyone within hitting distance before unfurling the full length of his wingspan. 

“Wow,” was all he could say, like the breath had been knocked out of him. Under the sun streaming from the high windows, his wings gleamed a pristine white, with notes of soft gold. He turned this way and that, admiring their healthy shine, how _light_ they felt when he gently flapped them. “You’re amazing,” he told Sam genuinely, folding his wings again as he turned. “I can’t thank you enough.” 

“You could have coffee with me?” Sam blurted out, then looked as if he was surprised and a little embarrassed about what came out of his own mouth. 

“Yes.” Steve said hurriedly, before Sam did anything silly, like _apologizing._

They grinned at each other for a long time, until Darcy hollered at them to get a room.


End file.
